Her Past, His Present, Their Future
by nwesty
Summary: Ziva is making her way back to Tony and her NCIS family. However, her past catches up with her yet again and the team races to find her, save her, and bring her home one final time. Tiva.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or its characters.

This is set approximately one year after Ziva's departure and is an AU story using the plot introduced in Twenty Clicks as a springboard. My timeline and the show's timeline will not match up. Tiva. Constructive critique welcomed... this is my first fanfic ever. 

#####

Tony leaned back in his chair, resting his head in his hands that linked together behind his head. It had been a long week of paperwork and cold cases. A nice reprieve from the violence that permeated his job. However, the seconds felt like minutes, the minutes like hours, the hours like days. This weekend couldn't come fast enough. Well, any weekend couldn't come fast enough he amended. He looked forward to his Facetime chats with Ziva.

Leaving her behind a year ago had left him broken for weeks. His team had noticed the difference, but their words and acts of encouragement and kindness did little to mend his heart. Then, one night, as he had just finished pouring is first bourbon, his computer alerted him to an incoming call. His thoughts drifted back to her initial contact.

_"Hello… Tony." She had reached out, he thought, stunned into silence. Shocked. After the primary shock had worn off, he had noticed the sheen in her eyes. She had misunderstood his lack of response. "I should not have contacted you. I am sorry, Tony."_

_"No, Ziva! Wait!" Panic had coursed through him at the thought of potentially losing her yet again._

_"It is ok Tony. I have no right to your heart any more. I understand if you have moved on. Or if you cannot forgive me this time. It is my foolishness that I have to blame, not you."_

_"Ziva. Stop. Just listen to me for a sec, ok?" He had paused to make sure he had her attention. "There is no one else. Never was and never will be. I was just a little surprised to hear from you, that's all."_

_She had studied him intently, then averted her gaze. "I do not deserve you," she mumbled to no one in particular._

_Tony had managed to lighten the mood and they had gone through the pleasantries, had caught each other up on the past five months of their respective lives. He had not wanted to push but was aching to know, and he was thankful when she had taken the initiative to answer the question that burned the deepest within him – Was she coming back?_

_"Tony. I am closer to the person I have been searching for, but still a long way from where I want to be. I need more time. And, I know I have no right to ask you to wait, but I am making my way back to you. If you will still have me, that is."_

_"I would wait a lifetime, Sweetcheeks."_

_Ziva had flashed a genuine smile, the one that was his favorite. She had told him of her intentions to travel across Europe, to teach ballet to children in need, indicating that she was literally and figuratively making her way closer to him in the process._

_Then they had agreed to find a way to contact each other in the event of an emergency, knowing that Parsa was still out there somewhere, a threat that hadn't yet been neutralized. Ziva had informed Tony that she would find a way to give him an emergency number, that he just needed to "pay attention" to little details._

_Forty minutes since the first greeting, they were both smiling, the future, their future, now a hopeful, almost tangible being. Before signing off, Tony knew he could not wait any longer, that he had already waited too long. He had taken the plunge, "Ziva, I love you. I should have told you that a long time ago."_

_She had been silent for a long moment, looking down. When she had raised her head one last time, he saw the sheen of tears once again swimming in her eyes. But this time it had been accompanied with another one of her radiant smiles. "I know. And I love you. Always."_

A private smile played with his lips as the memory wrapped in his mind. In another two days, he would see his little assassin again during their weekly chat. Saturday evenings continued to be his favorite date night of the week, but now, instead of going out every weekend with a different woman, he waited at home for a call from the only one he truly felt connected to. Strange, he thought, how he had changed. He had told her that he would change with her, not realizing at the time that he was already doing so.

A sharp command pulled him from his reverie.

"Gibbs. I need you and your team in MTAC. Now," Director Vance called down from the walkway overlooking the bullpen.

Gibbs stared at Leon for a moment as the rest of the team stared at him. Without a word, in a well-orchestrated move, the team simultaneously stood, Gibbs in the lead, the rest following, all wondering what awaited them.

The team filed in. When they noticed the person on the screen, Gibbs demanded, "What's going on here, Director."

"It seems our friends at Mossad need some help Agent Gibbs."

With the mention of Mossad, Tony visibly straightened and slowed. He glared at the person on the big screen, thankful that he was still cloaked in the darkness of the ramp leading into MTAC. His heart raced as his stomach plummeted. There was a chance this was not about her. A chance that this was about some new threat that Israel needed help with. But his gut was rarely wrong, and if his gut continued its winning streak, then he knew this was about Ziva.

"Good morning Director Elbaz. To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Good evening Director Vance. My call is of a rather urgent matter. I need to know if you or any of your agents have had contact with Ziva David in the last 72 hours."

Everyone was on full alert with the mention of their former teammate's name. They all knew that Tony had established regular contact with Ziva. While he didn't advertise the content of their chats, Ziva had asked him on occasion to pass along messages when she was unable to. She had also contacted the other members of the team intermittently, trying to reestablish and strengthen the bond that she once shared with her adoptive family for when she returned home.

All eyes turned to Tony, hopeful that he indeed had. When he answered, "No. The last we spoke was Saturday evening," the team anticipated news of a not so pleasant nature was about to be revealed.

"I see," Director Elbaz sighed. "I fear that Ziva may be in danger then."

"What interest does Mossad have with Miss David? It was my understanding that she's no longer an agent for either country," Director Vance finished with a raised eyebrow and a sideways glance to Tony, as if looking for confirmation whether there was something he should have known about. Tony indicated with an almost imperceptible shift of his head in the negative as he stared back at the Director.

"Ziva is no longer an agent for Mossad, that is correct. However, Mossad still values her safety since she was a former intelligence officer and the daughter of former Director David. She still holds many secrets our enemies would find most valuable."

"So how do you know she's in danger?" Director Vance pressed.

"We have been keeping Ziva under surveillance since her attack in Israel several months ago. Even as she travels across Europe, we have a team assigned to her security."

"Ziva never mentioned this, Director. Was she aware that she was being watched?" Tony asked, unable to mask his annoyance.

"I assure you Agent DiNozzo, Ziva knew. She confronted the team assigned to her one evening as they questioned a dance instructor she was working with in Austria. She threatened them to keep their distance." Tony scowled with this new knowledge, wondering why Ziva did not share this with him.

Gibbs chimed in, getting straight to the point by asking, "So, what's happened in the last 72 hours?"

"Our tech department discovered that specific files were hacked late Sunday evening. Upon closer examination of the files, we found that they all shared one thing in common. All were filed by Agent David. Has NCIS had any technology breeches within the past week, Director Vance?"

The Director turned to the tech operator working in MTAC, ordering him to contact the tech department and find out if indeed they were aware of a breach and if not to check for one, specifically looking for hacked files involving former Agent David.

Director Elbaz continued as Vance returned his attention to the screen. "Our tech department worked for almost a day trying to trace the hacker. They were eventually successful, finding it originated somewhere in Russia. We combined this new intel with the knowledge of your recent experience in Russia Agent Gibbs and formed a theory." Orli paused, allowing the agents time to catch on. "We know the leader of a Russian mercenary group, Sergei Mishnev, targeted you Agent Gibbs because of your involvement in the deaths of Saleem Ulman, Ilan Bodnar, and most importantly Ari Haswari. Each of these men was a personal friend of Mishnev's, but Ari became like a son to him. After his death, he began searching for the individual responsible. And since Ari's death occurred in your place of residence, Mishnev held you responsible. So he began to orchestrate a comprehensive plan seeking revenge on you. As his hacker continued to gather information about the operations revolving around these men, he discovered another commonality."

"Ziva," Tony supplied.

"That is correct," confirmed the Israeli Director.

"Sir." The MTAC tech operator returned the phone to the cradle. "Tech found a breach, sir. Early Sunday morning. Only a few files were hacked. The list is on the upper right screen."

All eyes turned toward the corner of the front wall. They all noticed the name of the person whom filed them. Everyone turned back to the large center screen.

"Your theory seems to have some credibility, Director Elbaz. Many of Ziva David's files were accessed Sunday during the early morning hours."

"We believe Sergei discovered that it was actually Ziva who killed Ari and has now chosen to target her."

"What aren't you telling us, Director Elbaz?" Gibbs bluntly inquired.

Orli looked away for a few seconds, then returned her gaze to the team. "We believe Ziva was attacked sometime Tuesday evening. The security detail assigned to Ziva was found dead Wednesday morning in the apartment building she was staying at. The apartment Ziva was staying in had been broken into and from what we can gather, there was a struggle. A man with ties to Russian mercenaries was found shot to death. We also found traces of Ziva's blood in her bedroom, bathroom, and strangely, on the phone." As the Director relayed the events, pictures flashed on the screen in a sickening slide show. Tony's stomach and jaw clenched tighter with each one. When he saw the picture of the phone with her bloody fingerprints on the one and the nine, he felt a punch to the gut. It was a message. One that only he would know. And she was counting on him to decipher it and find her. He turned on his heels and ran to the MTAC door, praying that he was wrong and hoping that he was right.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony ripped open his desk drawer. The phone was dead. God, he hoped this wasn't a sign. He plugged the phone into the charger and waited. "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered impatiently to himself as he repeatedly pushed the power button waiting for the phone to pick up a dribble of power from the charger. "Rule three DiNozzo!" he grumbled, giving himself a sharp slap to the back of the head. As he waited, a conversation replayed in his head.

_It was raining in DC this particular Saturday night as her face came into focus on the screen, illuminating the room. "Hello Tony. Did you have a good week?"_

"_Yeah, fine. But it just got a whole lot better." She could hear the exhaustion in his voice and knew it must have been a long week, but if he wanted to share, he would. "How are things going with the little swans?" he asked indicating her latest class and the performance they were working on. _

_A smile graced her lips. It was good to see her smiling so much more than he could ever remember. "They are doing well. A little hard around the edges, but much improved from where we started. Our performance is next week. Everyone at the orphanage is very excited. I will record it for you." _

"_Rough. Rough around the edges. You need to come home soon, Sweetcheeks. Your English is slipping." Tony couldn't wait until she was home with him, and he found himself dropping more hints the longer it took her to find her way. Sometimes they exasperated her, and sometimes they made her sad, but this time, she just poked back. She seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood._

"_I speak nine languages, Tony. I believe I am permitted an error every now and then," Ziva chided. Then, in a snap, her demeanor turned serious. "I heard about Parsa, Tony. I was worried about you and the rest of the team for days. And I am finding it more difficult to stay away. Now that you and everyone else are back in my life, if only at a distance for now, I feel a need to be closer to everyone, especially when the danger becomes great. But, at the same time, I want to come back whole, and I am so close, so close Tony."_

_Tony was still getting use to the open and honest Ziva that she was transforming into. He was silent for a long moment, squinting at the screen before him. "I think I like the 'post-tarmac' Ziva. Sharing is easier for her now."_

"'_Post-tarmac,' Tony?"_

"_Yeah. Ya' know. Kinda like the post-elevator us, when we shared more about our personal lives. The post-tarmac Ziva is an open book. I think your journey has done you good." Tony paused, making sure he wanted to add the rest. "And… if you need more time Ziva, take it. While I wanted you back like yesterday… I also want you back whenever you're ready, whenever you feel whole." Wanting to lighten the mood and return to jovial Ziva, he added, "Besides, now that Parsa has been eliminated, you don't have to worry about me or anyone else."_

"_There will always be other threats, Tony. And I will always worry as long as it is not me there to have your back." Ziva continued on a sigh, "But, I suppose you are correct. This has helped me and I should see it through."_

_They managed to steer the conversation back to safe territory, laughing and joking, talking about the latest pranks Tony played on McGee, the newest tattoo that Abby got, and the latest project Gibbs was working on in his basement. Tony complained about the July heat while Ziva simply scoffed at his discomfort._

_Before signing off for the week, Ziva suggested that it was safe to discontinue carrying their emergency phones, that they no longer needed to worry about being tracked by Parsa. Tony didn't like the idea, his resistance leading to an exasperated Ziva. "Tony. You can still reach me at any time on my regular phone. We no longer need to worry about Parsa. I am safe."_

"_I still don't like it Ziva," Tony replied with a frown. "What if someone else comes after you, or us? Huh? Or, what if there's a zombie apocalypse that I need to warn you about? What then?" Ziva furrowed her brows and playfully scowled at his childishness, but he pressed on. "Besides, you put so much work into getting me that number, it would be a shame to waste it."_

"_I sent you postcards, Tony. I wrote a simple code and an address on them and mailed them. There was not a whole lot of effort required." _

_He thought back to when he received fifteen postcards in one week. Clearly, it had been Ziva's way of communicating secretly to him. He never told her that he had Bishop help him decode the message in order to arrange the hidden numbers in the correct order. _

_When he remained silent, continuing to lean forward and stare at her with his chin resting on folded hands, she huffed and compromised. "Fine," she bit. "I will keep the phone, but I will not carry it around with me everywhere I go. In fact, I will probably throw it in my suitcase and forget about it."_

_Realizing this was the best he was going to get, Tony relented. He ran a hand down the length of his face, clearly tired. "Ok." After a second he continued, "I love you Ziva. Just want you home in one piece." Soon, he thought again, but didn't want to push it. _

"_I know Tony. Do not worry about me. I can still take care of myself. I carry a paperclip everywhere I go," she smiled, knowing he was tired and that he would worry about her even if she was in the same room. This, at least, earned her a smirk. _

Tony stared out the window, watching the blue-gray autumn clouds rolling in, shielding the yellow, red, and orange leaves of the trees from the still rising sun. She knew then about her security detail, he thought. That's why she had been so insistent about her safety and getting rid of that damn phone. _Dammit, Ziva_.

A sharp "DiNozzo" pulled him from the memory. He whipped his head to the right to find Gibbs striding through the bullpen. "What'd'ya got?"

Tony held up the charging phone in answer. Gibbs just stared at him.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked.

"Sorry boss," Tony replied stoically, looking at the phone he held. He drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, before sighing and relaying his hunch. "The one and the nine. On the phone in Ziva's apartment. I think they were a message for me." He looked up to find Gibbs and now the rest of the team watching Tony intently. "Ziva and I exchanged emergency numbers when Parsa was still a threat. Nine one one. On the phone buttons. Emergency number. Emergency phone," Tony looked at his team with raised eyebrows as he wiggled the phone. "I think Ziva either called or I'm to call her."

"If it was an emergency phone, why isn't it charged and in your pocket, Tony?" McGee asked, the bite in his voice clearly communicating his concern for Ziva.

"Because, Tim. Ziva refused to carry hers around once Parsa was taken out," Tony bit back. "She said there was no point."

"Rule three, DiNozzo."

Tony knew he was right. "I know boss."

Gibbs approached Tony, stopping inches from his face, speaking in a rough whisper. "I know you know. I saw. We will find her and bring her home Tony."

He swallowed, afraid to ask, but wanting the reassurance, "But what if…?"

"She's not. I would _know_."

"I hope you're right," he said, voice tight. Then in a frustrated whine, he turned his attention to the phone he still clutched. "What is taking so…" The phone chimed, indicating the battery had picked up enough of a charge to be turned on. Tony pressed and held the power button, the phone vibrating to life.

After another second, a chime indicating a message sounded. Tony stared at his team, then punched in the necessary code to retrieve the voice mail. Holding the phone to his ear, he turned around, wanting this to be as private a moment as possible.

"Hello Tony. I suppose if you listen to this message… in the next few days…, then you got my other message from Mossad." He could hear the labored pain mixed with regret in her voice and steadied himself for the rest. "You were right. I should not have insisted… on getting rid of these phones." He could almost see her rueful smile as he heard her sharp, painful intake of breath between each phrase. "I can only assume… my past is after me yet again. I was attacked… in my apartment. Someone with a Russian accent. I do not know… who is after me…, or for what reason. I will still try to make it… home to you, but… I will not bring this fight… with me. These are my sins to face." Another pause, then a resigned, "I love you."

Tony stood for a long moment staring at the phone now palmed in his hand. He had heard the unspoken goodbye. Anger. The anger he felt was almost palpable. Anger at those targeting Ziva. Anger at Ziva for her stubbornness. Anger at himself for leaving her behind all those months ago.

"Tony?" McGee called his name a third time. Tony turned a pained expression toward his partner. "What did she say?"

Chest tight, Tony could only think of one word. A word she hadn't voiced, but said all the same. "Goodbye."

Unwilling to accept the finality of that one word, Gibbs barked, "McGee," as he stepped and snatched the phone from Tony's hand. "See what information you can get on the number that Ziva called from," he finished as he tossed the phone to him. "Bishop. Use your NSA contacts. See if there's been any interceptions about former Mossad officers or US agents. Especially from Russia." Gibbs turned to face Tony, again a few inches from him. "Hey. I need your head in the game, DiNozzo. You want to get her back? Then _fight_ for it." Tony stared at Gibbs another five seconds. Then, as if a hypnotist snapped his fingers, Tony blinked and sat down at his desk.

"McGee. I need that phone back when you're done."

"A few more seconds, Tony," McGee replied, as his fingers flew across the keyboard. "Ok. Here you go." McGee tossed the phone back. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call her, McDuh," he called as he strode toward the elevator.

Once the elevator doors slid shut, Gibbs called over, "McGee. Trace Ziva's number if she answers."

"You don't think she'll pick up, Boss?"

"I don't know, McGee." Gibbs stared at his computer screen. He knew that Ziva would do anything in her power to protect them. Even if that meant not answering the phone and taking on the men after her alone. But he also knew if the call was coming from DiNozzo, she would have a hard time denying it.

Silence descended on the bullpen as everyone worked to find a lead on Ziva's whereabouts. Bishop spoke quietly to NSA contacts on the phone while sitting on the floor behind her desk. McGee used his computer trying to establish search parameters according to her last known location and the time of the attack. Gibbs searched out Leon in the hopes that he would contact Director Elbaz and ask for a list of Mossad safehouses located near Ziva's former apartment that she would know about.

The silence was broken by the chime of McGee's computer, indicating a trace had begun.


	3. Chapter 3

It was his third try. The pictures that flashed across the MTAC screen earlier now flashed in his mind. The toppled furniture, the disheveled bed sheets, and the blood. Clearly there had been a struggle. Clearly Ziva had been injured. And while the amount of blood was minimal, there was no way of telling the true severity of her injuries. Panic was beginning to set in, several scenarios playing out, like the movies he so loved. "Come on Ziva. Answer, dammit," Tony pleaded through the phone. On the fifth ring, he was preparing to hang up and dial again, when the ringing was replaced by silence. "Ziva?"

"Hello, Tony," came her winded reply.

Relief washed over him, rinsing away the anger built up by the first two unsuccessful attempts. Now, fear pressed painfully into his chest. "Ziva. Where are you?"

"What? No, 'How are you doing' or 'I miss you,' Tony?" Ziva asked calmly, softly, almost peacefully. The fear gripped his heart even tighter at her resigned tone.

Tony ran his free hand through his hair and turned toward the sereneness of the courtyard, seeking solace. "Ziva. I need a sitrep," Tony demanded harshly, jaw tight.

She gave a humorless sniff. "You are not my boss, Tony," she snapped.

Tony felt some relief at the sharp reply, indicating she still possessed the will to fight, but he still needed to know more information about her situation. "Come on, Zi. There are a lot of people worried about you."

Relenting, she continued more civilly. "They should not be. I may have tried to leave a life of violence behind, but I still remember how to defend myself." Tony could still hear the difficulty she had breathing, but it was not as labored as on her voicemail message. When he didn't respond, she conceded. "Oh, alright. A man, Russian I believe, took out the security detail ordered to protect me, then broke into my apartment. I was taken by surprise. We struggled. I eventually made it into the bedroom, grabbed my gun, and shot him. I gathered what I needed, left you the clue hoping Mossad would contact NCIS, and proceeded to a safehouse."

"Are you injured?" Tony asked, knowing she omitted those details purposefully.

"I am fine, Tony," came her automated reply.

"No. You're not. I can hear it when you speak. Please Ziva, don't shut me out now," Tony implored with a hushed tone.

A long pause followed by a huff indicated her concession. "I have a few scrapes and bruises. I have at least two broken ribs. My shoulder was dislocated, and I was stabbed twice." She could hear his sharp intake of breath, and hurried on. "I managed to track down an old contact, one who now works peacefully in the medical field. He came to the safehouse and did his best to… oh, how do you say… patch me up."

"Did his best?"

"We did not have sophisticated equipment. There was no way to tell if any internal damage was done," Ziva stated very matter-of-factly.

"Where are you, Zi?" Tony asked again, every syllable laced with concern.

"No, Tony. I am not dragging you into this. Whatever _this_ is," Ziva defied.

"Ziva, we have a pretty good idea of who is after you. Tell me where you are and I'll fill you in when I get there," Tony tried.

"Tell me now, Tony, or I am hanging up and the trace that I know McGee is running will lead you nowhere," she threatened.

Tony cursed her intuitiveness. "Fine. Does the name Sergei Mishnev mean anything to you?"

There were a few seconds of silence as Ziva pondered the name. Tony could almost see her furrowed brow and scrunched nose. _She was probably pinching the bridge of her nose_, he thought. "No. Should it?"

"He's a Russian mercenary who dealt in arms, among other things, and let's just say that we shared some of the same clients."

"Who?" Ziva demanded, interrupting Tony.

Tony hesitated, knowing the past was about to rear its ugly head yet again. "There were several names we recognized…"

Ziva interrupted again, voice sharper this time. "Who, Tony?"

"Bodnar. Saleem. Hell, even The Frog." He paused, knowing the next name would have the biggest impact. "And Ari."

Silence.

"Ziva? You still there?" Tony asked, masking his panic.

"Yes, Tony. What connection did my brother have to this Mishnev?"

"Apparently, Ari was a loyal customer of Mishnev's and the two became close. They bonded over illegal dealings, and Mishnev viewed Ari as a son. When he was killed, he vowed revenge." Another pause. Ziva just waited, knowing Tony would finish. "He already came after Gibbs, Ziva. He did his homework and discovered that Ari was killed in Gibb's basement. But, the guy he hired kept digging and they discovered that it wasn't actually Gibbs who killed Ari."

"It was me," Ziva whispered, finishing the summary heavily.

Tony sank to a nearby bench as he began to feel the weight of the situation mounting. "Ziva. Where are you? We can help. Please. Let us help you."

Frustration seeped into her reply, aimed directly at her past, but catching Tony in the crossfire. "No, Tony! Like I said when I left that message, these are my sins to face. I will _not_ drag anyone else into my mess."

Tony snapped back, his own frustration boiling over. "Ziva. Stop! You are injured. You have no idea what this Mishnev looks like or who he's working with. Just tell me where you are, or so help me, I will search every city, every town, hell, every village in Europe to find you, I don't care if it takes me the rest of my life!" he finished dramatically.

Ziva smiled into the phone. "By now, I am sure McGee has a fix on my current location, so that would narrow your search some."

Tony heard the tired playfulness in her voice, but was not in the mood. "Ziva, please just tell me," Tony begged.

"Others may be monitoring calls from this location to the United States and Israel in the hope of tracking me, Tony, so telling you will do no good. I will begin traveling to a new location as soon as I am done talking to you."

Trying to reign in his mounting frustration, Tony tried another approach. "Okaaay. So, tell me where you are going then."

"I cannot do that Tony. I do not know how secure this number is anymore," Ziva continued to hedge.

"Ziva, I'm serious. I will use McGee's trace as a starting point and track you from there if I have to," Tony threatened.

Ziva knew this could place him and possibly the others in danger if there was indeed someone monitoring the call. Relenting, Ziva decided to give Tony a crumb. "I plan to head to the city where I danced with the man who deserves my love," she whispered. And, with that, she was gone.

Tony sat on the bench with his elbows propped on his spread knees, his hands linked, eyes closed, and head hung. Berlin. The dance. The kiss. The shared bed. While nothing more than the kiss physically happened, emotionally, they realized the feelings that each of them held for the other. They realized, and more importantly, accepted their love. Neither declared it, but it was there, between them, as if it were a physical being. Had things gone down differently with Bodnar, had things happened differently with Parsa, he was sure they would have declared it long before Israel. Hell, Ziva would never have left and Israel would never have happened, Tony thought bitterly.

Realizing that playing the "what if" game wasn't going to bring Ziva home, Tony stood and turned to return to the bullpen. His long strides and fixed gaze spoke of his determination.

The elevator's ding announced his arrival and he exited with the same stride, the same determination. McGee glanced up from his computer, anticipating Tony's return since the ended call minutes ago. "I got a fix, Tony. We know where she's at. Northeast France. Near Metz."

Tony look up from his desk drawer, the one that still housed the necklace he treasured more than his Bond collection. She was near Paris, he thought, another shared bed flashing through his mind. He eyed McGee another second before refocusing on the drawer. "Yeah, McGee? Well, I know where she's going," Tony answered as he pocketed the necklace and the photograph he looked at every day.

Tony took the steps two at a time up to the next level. He was ready to continue fighting for her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi all! Just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed for the positive feedback so far. I really do appreciate it! Sorry this chapter took me a while to get to… I've been hashing it out, plus, life has been a little hectic lately. Hoping to update again around Thanksgiving. Enjoy! **

#####

The weather matched her mood. The dampness, the coolness, the greyness swirling around her and within her seemed all-consuming. Again, she thought. It was happening again. She was a target. Those she cared about were targets _because_ of her. And they were going to put themselves in harm's way yet again _for_ her.

The windshield wipers swishing every ten seconds were mesmerizing. Ironic how they mirrored her life, she thought. They were able to temporarily erase the drizzle that burdened the glass, but the ugliness invariably kept coming back. In her mind, her past fell with those drops, and they just kept coming back no matter how hard she tried to wipe them away.

Schmiel's wisdom danced in her mind, his voice chiding, "The rain may bring us temporary gloominess my dear Ziva, but it is necessary for the beauty that follows."

He was right, of course. Everyone experienced the "gloominess" of life. Some more so than others. Some of their own doing. Some who were dealt it hand after hand. Her mind drifted to the beginning of her journey.

_After handling all of her affairs in Israel, she realized that she no longer wanted to stay in her birthplace. She realized that too much had been taken from her here and the memories threatened to consume her. She realized that she wanted, and maybe more importantly, deserved something permanent. She realized that her happiness awaited her in D.C. However, she was still fighting off the demons and insisted that they were hers to face alone. _

_In her search for solace, she set out on a journey of redemption. At the time of her decision, she had no plan – she didn't know where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there. So, she packed what she felt essential and flew to Istanbul. She had been to the city on several different missions for Mossad and always thought that it was beautiful, that she would like to shop at the bazaars or visit the Jewish District or attend an opera. But, when she arrived in the bustling city in mid-January, none of these things filled the need within her soul. The problem was, she didn't know what would. As she explored the city in the following days, a sense of helplessness began to consume her. She started having anxiety attacks, wondering if she would ever be able to put the past behind her. Then, one day as she wandered a less attractive section of Istanbul, she saw a sign for an orphanage. She couldn't explain the pull, didn't dare analyze its origin, but it was there. After staring at the sign for a minute, she tried to tighten the coat around her even more and pushed the buzzer. She was startled when she was granted quick access to the property. A grandmotherly lady greeted her at the entrance asking if she could help her. Ziva, unsure up to that very moment what she was going to say, asked if they were looking for help. The gray haired woman smiled apologetically, explaining that they did not have enough money to hire another staff member. Ziva quickly volunteered her services, free of charge. At the suspicious squint of the director, Ziva hurriedly explained that she too was an orphan and wanted to give back, to help children she felt a similar connection to through her losses. The older woman acquiesced, asking Ziva to return the next day. She complied, getting a full night's sleep for the first time in days. _

_After a few days of interacting with the children, she became attached to one in particular. Ayla. She was a scrawny eight year old with dark skin, hair, and eyes, reminding her a lot of Tali. It was her eyes though that Ziva was drawn to. They spoke of acceptance of a situation beyond her control, but they screamed resilience, that she was not going to let circumstances define her life. Ziva found strength in the small child, calling her "berakah," a gift. _

_One day, Ziva found her bundled up and twirling around in her room beside the cracked window. Music from somewhere beyond the walls of the orphanage drifted up to the third floor dorm. Ziva stood and watched, applauding with glistening eyes when the twirling stopped. It was in that moment that she realized the reason she was there and the direction she was to travel. The director found her an empty room in which she could instruct a small group of children interested in learning simple ballet steps. Ziva even offered to put on a small performance for the other children and the staff if her dancers put forth a lot of effort. They were eager and willing to listen, eager to have something special in their lives. _

_After practice one snowy afternoon, Ziva noticed Ayla seemed sad – an emotion she never witnessed from the youth before. The girl sat on the floor with her head down as she finished tying her second shoe. "Ayla, is everything alright?"_

_With her head still down, she shook it to indicate "yes." _

"_Are you sure? Is there something I can help you with?"_

_Suddenly, a sob escaped her throat and her shoulders began to shake. _

_Ziva was on the floor in an instant, scooping the child onto her lap and offering as much comfort as possible with her embrace. "Shhh. Everything will be ok, little one. Shhhh." Ziva gently rocked back and forth, trying to sooth. After she calmed, she tried asking again, "What's wrong, Berakah?" _

"_Today is the day my parents died," Ayla explained in the tiniest of voices. The eyes that were always full of life, of fire, were eerily distant and disturbed. Before Ziva could respond, she continued, unbidden. "My dad was not a nice man," she whispered. A memory replayed in Ziva's mind as the girl continued. "He would hit my anne and I would hide under the table or behind the chair. One day she did not get up. She fell and hit her head. He screamed at her to get up, get up, but she wouldn't listen. I ran from the house, afraid he would come for me. When I returned, the police were there. They said they had been looking for me. When I asked about my anne and baba, they said there was an accident, that I had to come with them." When she finished, she was calm again, as if relaying a story about someone else. With large eyes, she looked at Ziva. "Sometimes I see them in my dreams. I cannot seem to forget them." She continued to watch Ziva, silently searching for reassurance._

_Ziva was at a loss at first. How was she to explain to an innocent child the ugliness she witnessed? She had certainly lived through enough of it herself, but how was she supposed to pull something good from a situation in which a father killed a mother in front of a child. She gently laid a palm on both cheeks and began, "You don't ever forget. You remember the lessons learned from the past and use them to move forward. You are beautiful, ҫocuğum. You did not deserve what happened. But, we cannot undo the past. Use it to remember that the light is better than the darkness, for you are full of light. Full of joy."_

Ziva gripped the steering wheel tightly, yet again, as another searing lightning bolt of pain pierced through her abdomen. She needed to stop. To rest.

Glancing in her rearview mirror, she spotted the same black sedan that she had been keeping track of since crossing the border, which had taken her longer than she had expected, longer than she would have liked. That, combined with the fact that she was traveling a more indirect route to Berlin, limited her progress for the day. She made another turn at an intersection, and the black sedan was still there. With the need to rest, Ziva pulled into the next motel she happened upon. She watched the sedan park as far as possible from her location. Whoever had been following her was not very discrete.

After settling into her small, dingy room, Ziva grabbed her gun and snuck out the back window. She rounded the corner of the motel and spotted the black car. Peering through the thick bush, she could make out a single silhouette sitting in the front driver seat. The person held a phone.

She crept closer. Cigarette smoke mixed with Russian words wafted from the cracked open window. Ziva was close enough now to understand at least one side of the conversation.

"This was not the plan Sergei! I was merely supposed to pinpoint her location and Makar was to take care of the rest. Now he is dead, the woman is on the run, and you have me following her!" The figure listened. "Yes, of course I want to see them again. Please do not hurt them," the silhouette pleaded. "We are at a motel in Weilburg. She rented a room, I assume for the night. I still am unsure of her destination. She was cryptic in her last communication." Another pause. "Yes sir."

After the call ended, the man cursed and threw the phone on the passenger seat. _He may prove useful_, Ziva thought. She snuck up to the driver side window and tapped on the glass with her knuckles while training her gun on the man. He snapped his head toward the sound and his eyes grew wide.

"Put your hands on the wheel," Ziva commanded easily in Russian. "Now, only move your right hand, and put the window completely down." He complied again, uncomfortable with the knowledge that this woman took out Makar. "Who are you?" Ziva demanded.

In a quavering voice he replied, "Viktor. Viktor Rhinmakov."

"What are you doing following me?"

"I was ordered to. By my employer."

"Who is your employer and why is he ordering you to follow me?"

"Please. Just let me go. I will tell him that you got away. I don't really know where you are going anyway," Viktor beseeched.

"Tell me what is going on, or _I_ will make sure you do not see your family again," Ziva threatened as she straightened her gun. She had no intention of killing the man, but bluffing may get her the information she sought.

"Ok, ok!" he said as he pushed on the steering wheel with the palms of his hands while extending his fingers. "I am working for Sergei Mishnev. He wants you dead. I was in charge of tracking you, and then Makar was to kill you, and I was to return home to my family. Now, instead, my orders are to follow you so Sergei can kill you himself."

"Why does this Sergei want me dead?" Ziva questioned.

"Because you killed your brother, the man that he considered a son," Viktor sighed.

"And how does this Sergei know that I killed Ari?" Ziva asked, his name passing painfully through her lips.

"Because. I hacked Mossad files to find out the details of his death. I found the location and learned of the history Ari had with Agent Gibbs, so it was assumed that he was the one to pull the trigger. Then I came across another file with your name and after more digging, discovered it was actually your hand that caused the death. Now, Sergei wants both of you to pay."

Anger at the thought that this Mishnev wanted to hurt the man she considered more of a father than her own blood had her thrusting the gun barrel into Viktor's temple. "How did you locate me in France? How did you know I was going somewhere?"

"I listened to your conversation. I have this microphone monitoring device that I can point in your direction and listen in on your calls," he finished weakly.

Ziva considered her options. She could hit him alongside the head right now, and escape. But she knew it would not end well for this man if he reported back to Mishnev that he lost her. For some reason that possibility bothered her. Another option was to turn him, to use him against Mishnev. She was unsure of his trustworthiness, but felt this was the better of the two options. "Here is what you are going to do," Ziva began with a threateningly low voice. "You will continue to follow me. If Mishnev contacts you for an update, you will tell him that you are still following me, but I have made no further contact with anyone else. Do you understand so far?" Ziva inquired as she slightly pushed the barrel into his temple. He nodded his concurrence. She continued, "You will not inform him of any future contact with my colleagues. The only information you share with Mishnev, besides following me, is what I tell you to share." He nodded again. Ziva pulled the gun from his head and he turned to look at her. She left him with a parting thought. "The only way you are guaranteed to see your family again is if Mishnev is dead. You follow through with our terms, and that is what will happen." She turned and strode toward her room.

As soon as she passed through the door, she took the pills Alexander had given her in Metz. One was for infection and the other was for the searing pain. She was sure there was internal damage, but seeking further medical attention was not an option at this time. She exchanged the bloody bandage for a clean one and picked up the emergency phone. Staring at it, she planned out the quick exchange in her head.

#####

Tony's head was bowed as he leaned his palms on the counter in the men's room. It had been almost twenty-four hours since his call with Ziva. Twenty-four hours of not knowing where she was, not knowing if she had been confronted by anyone else, not knowing the extent of her injuries. It had been more than twenty-four hours without sleep.

He had tried to heed Gibb's 2am warning to get some sleep. But images danced behind his eyelids every time they slid shut. Instead, he opted for the punching bag. When he finished, his knuckles looked eerily similar to another moment in time. Now, he wished he had gotten some shut-eye. He was ready to collapse and knew he couldn't.

Their flight departed at 1300. Tony had argued the day before that they needed to leave immediately, but everyone else was able to see the need to plan. In the meantime, they had done a lot of digging, trying to locate Mishnev and any other known Russian mercenaries operating in Europe. They turned up little. Mossad was kind enough to share the identity of the dead Russian found in Ziva's apartment. Former KGB turned mercenary. One of the best, the reports indicated. A rueful grin tugged the corner of Tony's mouth. Not once he met his ninja, though. Tony gazed into the mirror. Emptiness gazed back. He needed her home, in one piece. Otherwise, the emptiness might become permanent. He pushed off from the counter.

Tony strode into the bullpen, determination still in every step. "You know what I don't get?" he announced to anyone listening. Both Ellie and McGee turned and looked at him expectantly. "How did Mossad get in there so quickly? I mean, the French authorities never even investigated, meaning the incident had to have been contained almost instantly."

"You think Mossad had something to do with the attack, Tony? I know they're ruthless, but that seems too much, even for them."

"Just hear me out, McTrusting. Ziva possesses all kinds of secrets, all kinds of down-and-dirty intel from her years as an operative. Plus, she was the former director's daughter. If she would fall into the wrong hands, the implications for Israel would not be pretty. So, maybe they put a protection detail on Ziva to make it _look_ like they were trying to protect her, hired the Russians and gave them her location, and then had a second Mossad team on standby that went in and found the other Mossad team and the Russian dead."

McGee and Ellie both stared at Tony, mouths gaped open. "I think you've seen one too many movies, Tony. Your imagination is running wild. Do you really think Mossad would take out two of their own?"

Ellie added, "You need sleep, Tony."

"I don't trust Orli Elbaz. You guys explain Mossad's quick timing and the 'flic's' lack of interest," Tony challenged.

"Timing, DiNozzo," Gibbs answered, rounding the corner in full stride with coffee in hand and taking a seat at his desk. "Director Elbaz explained Ziva's routine over the past few months. The protection detail checked in every evening at 2100, Israeli time. Their coroner placed time of death around the same time. They knew something was wrong right away. Got a team on the ground within the hour." He glanced over to Tony, adding, "She's on our side, DiNozzo."

Silence permeated the bullpen. Then, "We should be there by now. We should be there with her right now," Tony insisted.

"SOP, DiNozzo," Gibbs reminded without looking up from his monitor. "Ziva has been trained to evade, to not head directly toward her next destination. We have time."

Ellie's phone rang, everyone eyeing it. On the third ring, Gibbs barked, "Bishop. Answer the damn phone."

She reached for the phone. "Bishop," she spoke into the receiver. Her eyes widened and flicked to Tony as she cradled the phone to her shoulder and reached for pen and paper. She began scribbling at a maddening rate. Tony slowly rose from his chair and stepped over to her desk, squinting down in curiosity at his newest team member. The conversation was completely one sided and only lasted about thirty seconds, with the only other words uttered by Ellie being, "Got it. Be safe."

Tony's gut knew. He knew it was her. So, he couldn't help the anger that tinged his accusation. "That was Ziva, wasn't it?" Her non-reply and quick glance to Gibbs was confirmation enough. "Why the hell did she call you?"

Gibbs was standing to the side of Tony before he even registered his presence. "Bishop is the only member of this team that has no personal connection to Ziva. She can remain completely neutral and objective."

"And I can't, is that it!?"

Gibbs simply stared at Tony, tilting his head to one side, is reaction answer enough.

Tony relented, sighing as he ran a hand down the length of his face. "Alright. What did Ziva tell you?"

Ellie proceeded to report, in a concise manner, as she bounced up from her seat. "Ok. First, she started with wanting to pass a message along to everyone that she was doing well but progressing slower than she anticipated. She's in Weilburg which is only about a third of the way to her destination, which we know is Berlin." As she took a shallow breath to continue, Tony interrupted.

"How did she sound?" At Ellie's questioning gaze, he elaborated. "Did she sound like she was in pain, like she was frantic? Or was she more relaxed, in control?"

Ellie furrowed her brow, thinking back on the exchange. "She sounded determined, like she had a plan."

"Bishop, what else?" Gibbs prompted, sharply.

"Um. Yeah. She said she was being followed by a Viktor Rhinmakov." Tony's features visibly hardened, worry evident. "That he was the hacker. She confronted him and believes she was able to turn him." Tony turned, cursing under his breath. "He claimed that his family was being held by Mishnev."

"McGee."

"Finding everything I can on Rhinmakov. On it, boss."

Ellie continued, "She also gave me a code for another phone." Ellie looked at Tony, "She said that you would have the key and to only use it when you landed," she said, handing him the paper she had scrawled on.

"Me?" Tony asked disbelievingly, looking at the writing.

"She said to tell you, 'The Natives were restless,' whatever that means."

Tony pondered, whispering the clue to himself repeatedly as he looked at the words on the sheet. Suddenly he snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up with recognition. He returned to his desk in two strides and began typing furiously.

"Tony?" McGee summoned, standing, curious what the clue meant.

Tony held up a just-a-minute finger, then continue on the keyboard. Everyone assumed he had found what he was looking for a moment later when he gave an, "Ahh-hah!"

The plasma flicked to life with the image of a DVD cover.

"This is no time for one of your movie references, Tony," McGee reminded, annoyed.

Tony stood and joined the team in front of the plasma. "It's not Tim. Well, it kinda is. Wind Talkers. A three star movie. One of Nicholas Cage's better roles. Ziva and I watched it one night…" Tony paused as he caught Gibb's assessing stare. "Just a movie night boss. Nothing else." Tony cleared his throat and continued, "Anyway, she became fascinated with the Navajo language. You know her and languages. I wouldn't be surprised if this isn't language number ten." As his head snapped forward, he continued. "Right. Sorry boss. Getting to the point. The new number is in Navajo," he finished, turning the paper for Gibbs to see.

"Alright. I want everyone ready to leave in an hour. Wheels up at 1300," Gibbs commanded as he turned toward the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow! Thank you to everyone for the continued positive feedback! I really appreciate everyone who reviewed for taking the time to do so. I'm having quite a bit of fun writing this, and I hope you all continue to enjoy reading. The next chapter should be posted sometime between Christmas and New Year's. **

#####

The sudden jarring had Tony reaching for his sidearm. He sat up straighter, blinking several times before focusing on Gibbs who just stared at his senior field agent. Tony ran his hands down the length of his face, pausing at his eyes to rub the sleep and disturbing images from them. An uneasy feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't place his finger on its origins.

The military transport taxied to a nearby hanger as the team gathered their belongings. As the plane rolled to a stop, a member of the crew addressed Gibbs. "Welcome to Ramstein. The chopper is fueled and ready for you over there sir," the young soldier stated, pointing.

Gibbs nodded in response, and the team exited the transport down the back ramp. "Boss? I could really use a bathroom break before we continue," McGee suggested in an uncertain voice as they crossed in front of the hanger. It was now 0530 local time. After a ten hour flight from D.C. to Ramstein, with a refuel stop in Dublin, McGee was regretting his decision to stay well hydrated.

They were only about an hour or so away from Berlin, and Gibbs wanted to push on. However, when he turned and scrutinized his two agents, he relented. "Be on that chopper in five," he ordered, and turned to continue toward the awaiting chopper and load his gear. McGee ran for the hanger, while Tony followed Gibbs. "Tony. Go with McGee. Splash some water on your face. Be prepared for whatever's coming next."

"I'm good, Boss," Tony replied with as much conviction as he could muster.

"You called out her name twice, DiNozzo. Go. Clear your head," Gibbs ordered as he turned and stared at Tony.

Tony eyed Gibbs, then dropped his gear, and jogged to the hanger. McGee was just ripping off a piece of paper towel from the roll resting on the back of the toilet, when he heard the knock. "Be right out," he called.

"Hurry up, McBladderBuster. Take off in four," Tony finished as the door opened.

The two traded places. Tony splashed water on his face as he finished washing his hands in the white porcelain sink. Water continued to drip after he pushed the lever back to the left. Looking in the chipped mirror, he watched a man with disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes, and the shadow of stubble on his face stare back. No wonder Gibbs sent him in here. Sighing and turning, he exited the bathroom to find McGee waiting. "You good, Tony?"

"Just a little jetlag, Tim. That's all," Tony joked in avoidance.

Not willing to glance at Tony as they walked, leaves crunching beneath their steps. McGee nervously offered, "You know, you called her name…"

Tony broke stride, but stared straight ahead. "Yeah, Tim. I know. Gibbs already told me." He turned and looked at McGee. "I'm fine."

The two continued toward the chopper. "Boy, that's like a page from Ziva's playbook."

"I'm. Fine," Tony enunciated each word.

"Ok," McGee finished, deciding to let the rest go for now.

#####

Viktor drove at a maddening rate. He had been driving since just after midnight and needed to be at the safehouse by seven in the morning, as per his instructions. Not following through might lead to catastrophic repercussions. Glancing at the GPS, the estimate suggested that he had about forty minutes until he reached his programmed destination.

Picking up the phone from the passenger seat, he dialed the preprogrammed number. "You had better have something for me Viktor."

"Ye... yes sir," Rhinmakov stammered. He relayed the necessary information to Mishnev. "The GPS puts time of arrival around noon."

"We are three hours out. We will arrive before she does and wait. You better be correct, Viktor. A lot hangs in the balance," Mishnev threaten ominously before the call ended.

Rhinmakov was not a man who practiced his religion regularly. However, he was hopeful that God would overlook his lack of faithfulness to answer the prayer that he proffered now. Asking for the safety of his family and the reassurance that he made the right choice, he pushed the gas pedal down further, lurching the car forward even faster.

#####

Sleep had eluded her, whether it was from the constant pain in her abdomen, or whether it was from the constant vigil she felt was necessary, Ziva wasn't sure of the source of her unease. The only rest she had managed during her stop was the hour she spent in the bath, the cold water eventually rousing her back to consciousness. After dressing, she called some of her former contacts, making arrangements and plans. Then, she had approached Rhinmakov just after midnight, handing him a letter she had written. Before leaving the motel, she had scrawled a second note, slipped it in an addressed envelope, and secured it in her coat pocket.

As she had closed the motel door behind her earlier, she had taken in the beautiful orange, pink, and purple sunrise beginning to grace the morning sky. At the time, she couldn't prevent her mind from wondering how many more she would see. _Enough_, she had scolded. Climbing into her car, she had pulled her seatbelt across, wincing as pain continued to shoot through her midsection. She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds, breathing deeply. She knew there was internal damage from the few dizzy spells she had experienced while at the motel. If she had to guess, she would say that her diaphragm sustained some kind of injury, given the trouble she had catching her breath and the occasional sharp pain in her chest. Turning the keys in the ignition, she was determined though to see this through.

Now, after about an hour and a half on the road, she pulled up to a small grocer outside the town of Eisenach to mail the letter that remained. She began to have second thoughts about her plan.

As she exited the small store, her phone rang, startling her. Reminding herself it was necessary to stick to the plan in order to ensure her family's safety, she steeled herself. "Tony?"

"Hey, sweetcheeks," relief flooded his voice. He cradled his phone between his shoulder and ear as he loaded equipment into the trunk of the car that awaited them at the discreet airfield south of Berlin. "How are you doing? Is it safe to talk?"

"Tony," she repeated. "I have been thinking about you," she allowed herself, leaning back against her car door. Then, "Yes, it is safe to talk. I took a secure phone from the safehouse in France."

"Yeah. McPrepared had me grab some secure sat phones before we left. So, how are you?" concern still evident.

Ziva pondered how to answer. Should she be truthful or supply her standard response. Knowing she would appreciate the truth if the roles were reversed, she answered, "I have been better. I believe I am in need of some additional medical assistance when this is all over," Ziva finished as lightly as she could.

"Ziva, please. If you need medical attention, go to the nearest hospital right now. We can meet you there," Tony pleaded.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ziva held firm. "No, Tony. This ends today. I will not allow my family to fall victim any longer to someone who is after _me_."

"Zee-vah…" the warning in his voice obvious as he straightened.

"Tony, don't. Remember the safehouse we stayed in after apprehending Yaniv?"

A sigh escaped his lips. "Yes."

"Take the team there. Rhinmakov contacted Mishnev. Everything is set. I'll fill you in on the rest later. Be safe, Tony." As she pressed end, Ziva reminded her conscious that everything she told Tony was at least a shade of the truth. She reminded her conscious she was doing all of this to protect the ones she loved. She reminded her conscious that if everything worked out as planned, she would be with Tony soon, as long as he could forgive her.

#####

Tony stared at the phone. The time, 6:26, stared back. "DiNozzo!" Tony's eyes snapped up to meet Gibb's questioning ones. "What did she say?"

"She just hung up on me, Boss," Tony whined in disbelief.

Gibbs offered a rare smirk, while McGee replied, "Yeah, well, Tony. I always thought Ziva was a pretty smart woman."

After Tony was done glaring at McGee, he relayed Ziva's directions. "Something's off. She was too vague."

"We don't have any other options right now, DiNozzo. We go to the safehouse, and we wait," Gibbs said as he finished loading the last of the equipment.

The three men piled into the car, concern etching each of their features. Barring any glitches, they should arrive at the safehouse within an hour.

#####

As Gibbs pulled up to the designated house, the first thing all of the agents noticed was the black sedan. "Ziva," Tony breathed.

However, their training taught them never to assume. They approached the house with caution, watching for any signs of danger. Entering through the unlocked door, they drew their weapons. Something was off. Ziva would not allow easy access to a safehouse. Working their way through the small ranch-style house, clearing room by room, they approached the kitchen in the back. They halted, listening to a glass clink, the faucet being turned on then off, and someone's steps. Gibbs was able to catch a glimpse of a man. He caught Tony's and McGee's eyes and gave a one-two-three signal with his fingers. On three, they entered the kitchen with force. "Stay where you are!" Gibbs shouted.

"Who are you? Where is Ziva?" Tony fired off.

The glass shattered on the floor as the man flung his hands in the air. "Please don't shoot! I was instructed to come here!" he defended.

Tony lurched for the man, spinning and pinning him against the wall with his forearm at the back of his neck. Frustration seethed from him. "I'll ask again. Who are you, and where is Ziva?"

In a quavering voice, he mumbled, "I am Viktor Rhinmakov. Ziva sent me here. I don't know where she is at, but she instructed me to give a letter to an Agent Gibbs when you arrived."

Gibbs holstered his gun while McGee kept his sights trained. Tony spun Rhinmakov back around. Gibbs searched him for weapons, then reached for his inside jacket pocket. He located the letter and ripped it open. "Cuff him," Gibbs ordered Tony as he began to read.

_Dear Gibbs,_

_My family is so important to me, that I must do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I am sorry if you feel betrayed, but please know I did it out of love. If anything were to ever happen to any of you because of me, I would not be able to forgive myself. _

_I sent Rhinmakov to the Berlin location to help reunite him with his family who was being held by Mishnev's associates. I contacted Orli this past evening and requested she pull a few ropes to make sure they were safe, and requested that Malachi lead the extraction team. They should arrive sometime this morning. Please do not hold his misguided choices against him – he was merely doing whatever he felt necessary to protect his family. I understand his motivations, as I am doing the same. _

_Please, do not worry about me. I will meet up with you in Berlin sometime this afternoon, after I know we are all safe. _

_Pass my love on to Tony and McGee. _

_Sorry Gibbs._

_Love,_

_Ziva_

Tony grabbed at the counter for the discarded letter as Gibbs slammed Rhinmakov against the refrigerator. "Where is she?" he shouted.

After Tony finished scanning the letter, he pulled his gun again, aiming for Rhinmakov's head. "I suggest you answer the man's question."

"I… I… I… don't know. I swear! She gave me the location of this house and a key and told me to be here by 7:00. She said I should come in contact with some American agents, give them that letter, and that my family would meet me here." He was now gasping for breath.

"McGee!" Gibbs barked. "Get your computers set up. Run every trace on every number we have related to Ziva. Find her. I don't care what international laws you have to break, you hear me?"

"Got…" A loud knock came from somewhere in one of the cleared rooms. All three men drew their weapons as they turned. Gibbs pushed Rhinmakov to the floor, threatening, "Quiet!" as he proceeded to the next room.

Another knock came from underneath the wooden floor. Gibbs gently pulled the area rug away that covered the location of the noise, revealing a square access panel. It slowly opened, and the three men found themselves aiming at Mossad Officer Ben-Gidon. "Agent Gibbs," he called calmly. "We meet again."


	6. Chapter 6

**Here you go all. I was able to get this done earlier than I anticipated. Enjoy... and please review.**

#####

Tony stalked up to Rhinmakov and his family at the kitchen table. He hooked his arm under Rhinmakov's and essentially lifted him from his chair, with a gruff, "We need to talk."

"Wait. My family…" Rhinmakov started, glancing back nervously at his wife and daughter who each reached out a protesting hand.

"…Will be right here when we're done." Tony tried to reassure with as much patience as he could. He led Rhinmakov to the living area, high pitched Russian objections pursuing them, quieting as they rounded corners. Gibbs, McGee, and Malachi waited, seated in a semi-circle around a rectangular coffee table. Tony deposited him in the chair at the foot of the table and took up residence on the couch cushion directly to Rhinmakov's right. Four sets of eyes focused on him.

Gibbs took point, asking, "What were _all_ of Ziva's instructions to you?"

"I… She…" he stammered, then propped his elbows on his knees and placed his face in his cupped hands. Resigned, he looked up. "I'm not supposed to tell you the rest. She did not want you to interfere. And she said if I did not follow her instructions, I, my family, would face consequences."

Gibbs leaned forward and pressed gruffly. "We need to know where she is, or _we_ are going to impose _consequences_ on you and your family. You are in no position to withhold information right now."

Tony listened to the building confrontation and decided to try a different approach. "Listen. She is important to us. To… me. Just as important to us as those two girls in the kitchen are to you. We want to do everything possible to make sure she is safe. Please. Tell us the rest."

Rhinmakov pondered Tony's words as he stared at the table that served as a centerpiece for the gathered men. The only sound was the tick-tock of the wall clock, echoing in the silence, a reminder of every additional second Ziva had placed herself in danger. The woman he was charged with following, with leading to her demise, was the one who turned around and saved his family. He gave her his word that if she were indeed able to save his family, he would repay her with his silence. However, he also understood the need of the men now before him to rescue the woman they cared so much for. Conflict pulled at his conscious, each side demanding his submission.

All heads turned in a single united motion to the sound of a small voice. "Please, papa. Tell them." Rhinmakov stared at his little girl. When he turned and met Tony's gaze, Tony noticed the sheen.

"Love. We do whatever is necessary for love, no?" Rhinmakov took a deep breath and turned back to the roundtable. "I knew where Mishnev was waiting, so we were able to estimate his travel time and ensure your safe arrival here, my family's safe arrival, and Ziva's arrival ahead of Mishnev. She told me to proceed to this location, and while on my way, around 6:30, I was to contact Mishnev and tell him that she revealed her destination and was en route to meet the rest of her team there."

"Where?" Tony interrupted, impatient with the need to know.

Rhinmakov hesitated, then revealed, "Leipzig. She is in Leipzig. She said there was another safehouse there and instructed me to relay the coordinates to Mishnev."

Tony glanced toward Gibbs. "She's going to try to take them out herself, Boss."

"Yeah, Tony. I got that," Gibbs acknowledged tightly.

"What time? What time will Mishnev arrive?" Tony asked, suppressing his rising fear.

"He was staying in a small village outside of Lindhorst. About three hours from Leipzig. If he left when I called, he should arrive around 9:30."

"How far is it from here to Leipzig?" Tony asked, the urgency growing.

Malachi, familiar with the safehouse locations, supplied, "It is about a two hour drive."

Tony jumped to his feet. "That puts us there around ten. We need to go now, Gibbs!"

"I can take you there," Malachi offered, rising to issue orders to the rest of his team.

"McGee, did you unpack any equipment?" Gibbs asked with an undeniable urgency ringing in his words, as the team hastened their steps toward the door.

"No. Everything is still in the car, Boss."

Malachi rounded the corner from the dining room, finishing his orders in rushed Hebrew as the team exited the house and headed directly for the car. The four men piled in quickly, wasting no time backtracking down the dirt road they had arrived on about an hour earlier, leaving a dust cloud in their wake.

"DiNozzo. Call that number she gave you," Gibbs ordered gruffly.

With the phone positioned at his ear, he gave an, "Already on it," in response.

#####

Ziva heard the car approaching. In the hour she spent preparing, she had managed to dress her bandages, load and position the meager supply of weapons available, and write a quick note.

Her wounds had still been seeping blood and the pain that shot through her abdomen was dizzying. If she survived this, she would need immediate medical attention, she had thought.

The small cache of weapons stored in the house had been loaded and positioned in different locations for easy access in any situation. She wasn't sure what to expect, so she had armed herself with two knives and a Sig. Ziva had also located enough material to build an IED.

And finally, she had placed the scrawled letter in an envelope. The message now sat secured inside a jacket pocket close to her heart, where it belonged.

Holding the sheer, faded curtain aside, Ziva observed a single SUV rambling up the mile long dirt drive. Judging the make of the vehicle, she estimated that there might be four, maybe five, occupants.

The SUV halted about two hundred yards from the house. Four men exited, guns drawn. They split in standard two by two pairs, one set creeping toward the back, and the other, led by whom she assumed to be Mishnev from Rhinmakov's description, approaching the front.

Ziva retreated to the back door located in the kitchen, while keeping an eye on the front through the open living area. A shadow crossed in front of the window and she knew what would happen in the next minute. Taking shelter behind the wall, she waited, training her gun on the back entrance.

Mishnev and his associate took up position in the front of the house on the small porch. Mishnev signaled to his partner to break in the door on the count of three. He raised one finger, quickly followed by a second, then a third. His partner took a step back for maximum force. As he planted his left foot on the mat in front of the door, both he and Mishnev heard a faint click. Both men instantly knew there was an explosive device planted beneath the mat. The hired mercenary was unable to slow his momentum, shifting his weight. Mishnev jumped over the porch railing as the blast propelled shards of glass, wood, and aluminum in every direction. Mishnev could feel the shrapnel piercing his body, the heat scorching his clothes. He laid on the ground, disoriented, his world spinning and ears ringing.

Upon hearing the blast, the back door burst open, one man clad in black entering with an assault rifle leading the way. Ziva continued to kneel down by the kitchen wall. When he entered another two feet, Ziva fired a single shot, hitting her target square in the forehead, and she retreated around the corner. The assailant landed with a thud as the second intruder burst in and began firing at Ziva's previous location. She quietly circled around, commencing the game of cat and mouse. As she snuck up behind the second man, a floorboard creaked. Ziva, wanting to save as much ammunition as possible, pulled the throwing knife from her boot as he turned, taking aim. She buried the knife deep into his throat. The man dropped instantly, unable to even get a shot off. Ziva approached cautiously, noting the vest he wore, thankful for her chosen aim. She then commandeered his weapon after she observed the stare of death. Staring back at the body, remorse and regret battled with the knowledge that it was kill or be killed. This was not who she was anymore, yet it came back so easily, and that frightened her. Had she really changed in the last year? Or, was she the same killer?

Outside, Mishnev stood unsteadily, shaking his head, trying to eliminate the incessant ringing. Blood dripped from his fingers, a piece of shrapnel embedded in his left shoulder. He peered through the intact window and spotted Ziva. Anger coursed through him as he raised his gun. Taking aim through blurred vision, he pulled the trigger.

Gun shots and shattering glass ripped her from her thoughts, sent her diving for cover, yelling out as pain shot through her midsection and upper arm. The rifle she had seized only moments ago, clattering across the wooden floor, blood beginning to flow freely from the bullet wound that had passed through her bicep. "You are mine, bitch!" Mishnev screamed. "I will take great pleasure in spilling your blood!"

Ziva crawled to the back door, exiting and sprinting, hunched over, as fast as her body would allow toward the forest trail. Droplets of red followed her, like a twisted connect-the-dots puzzle.

Mishnev proceeded through the house precariously, unsure of where Ziva disappeared to or if there were any more rigged explosives. He found the back door open, noticed blood on the floor and steps and footprints in the recent rain-induced mud leading to the tree line. Following, he noted a handprint and a deep impression in the mud, causing him to grin. Then, a metallic flash to the right grabbed his attention. A Sig, most likely belonging to the hunted, peered out from the shrubs, probably dislodged from its owner when she fell. Perhaps this would be easier than he thought.

He continued to pursue cautiously, nonetheless. About three hundred meters in, a sudden flash of movement caught his attention before he knew what it was. A baseball bat sized tree limb swung out from behind the trunk of a tree with so much force that Mishnev's head snapped back as he was knocked off of his feet. His rifle was flung to the side. Ziva approached to deliver another blow, adrenaline numbing the pain. As she did, Mishnev pulled a secondary weapon and fired two shots blindly in the direction of his assailant. He heard the dead weight hit the forest floor and took a moment to catch his breath.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he located the prone figure lying only a few meters away. He eyed her and noticed the subtle rise and fall of her chest, still indicating life. Relief filled him as he stood. "I am glad that you are still alive. This way I can watch you suffer for what you did to your own blood. You do not deserve an easy death," he said maliciously as he approached. Mishnev's heavy combat boot connected with Ziva's stomach in a vicious blow. She could not stop the moan that passed her lips. Two more followed, each more painful and strangely numbing. "Ahhh. I was wondering how you lived. A vest I see. I too prepare for such things," he said, pulling the jacket he was wearing apart slightly at the top.

Mishnev reached behind his back and produced a Sig, her Sig, and took aim at her forehead. "Fitting, no? To die as your brother did. Maybe this is the very gun that took his life," Mishnev said thoughtfully. "I would love to spend more time enjoying your demise. However, I have someone else that I need to find. Dasvidanyia."

A shot echoed. Time stood still. Silence permeated. Was this death? Utter nothingness?

"Ziva!" Gibbs bellowed, slicing through the quiet and keeping his weapon aimed as he rushed down the trail. He checked Mishnev's body, making sure he was dead before dropping to his knees beside the woman he considered a daughter. "Ziver?" A quiet moan escaped her lips, but she wasn't capable of opening her eyes. "Come on, Ziva. You need to _fight_! DiNozzo fought for you. Now it's your turn to fight for him, dammit!" Gibbs began to apply pressure to her bleeding arm, unaware of the internal damage. "You do _not_ have my permission to die. You hear me? Stay with us Ziver." He reached into his pocket for his sat phone and dialed. "Colonel Smithson. I need that chopper ASAP." He rattled off the coordinates and hit end.

"Boss?!" Tony yelled, searchingly. Then, "Ziva!"

Ziva was unable to respond. Muffled voices eventually faded as she succumbed to darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

**I see a few more chapters in the future before wrapping it up. Enjoy! And, as always, please review.**

#####

Floating. The sensation was alarming yet soothing. Voices floated. Her thoughts drifted. Hell, even her body felt lighter than air.

A familiar voice rasped somewhere in the distance. "When is she going to wake up, Doc?"

An unfamiliar voice quietly replied with strained patience. "As I've already explained before, Ms. David's body underwent a lot of trauma in the past several days. She is dealing with internal damage, a gunshot wound to the arm, and a concussion. She also had to be revived twice. After her surgery, we kept her in a drug-induced coma while she was in critical condition to allow her body to begin repairing some of the worst damage. Now that she is stable and off of the pentobarbital, it is up to Ms. David when she wakes.

Gibbs took a sip of the tepid liquid from the small Styrofoam cup, his third already of the morning. His mounting frustration was out of concern for his daughter, and the doctor did not deserve his wrath. So he simply nodded and said, "Ok." The doctor turned and left.

Another familiar voice drifted through, close. Ziva swore she felt it reverberate in her heart. "Boss. What if she doesn't…?"

"She will DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped. He took his final sip and leveled a glare at his senior field agent. "I didn't give her permission." And with that he turned. "I need more coffee."

A heavy sigh floated over her. Then her hand lifted. She couldn't tell if it was of her own accord or not until she felt warmth fill her palm. "Ziva, Ziva, Ziva. Please wake up. I got your letter and I forgive you. Please, just come back to me."

Tony rested his forehead on their entwined hands. "I thought I knew what scared was when we found you, Ziva." His own thoughts drifted back to four days ago when they arrived at the safehouse in Leipzig.

_They sped down the dirt road that led to the safehouse, coming across the abandoned SUV. As they stopped less than twenty yards from the front of the house, the four men found the front porch charred, the windows shot out, and a body lying among the debris. They exited their vehicle, guns drawn. Gibbs automatically took point, signaling for Tony and McGee to enter the front, while he and Malachi circled around back. _

_Knowing that Ziva was not expecting them and unsure if any other explosives were rigged, they entered cautiously, clearing each room. Toward the back of the house, they met up with Malachi, and discovered two more bodies. However, the one person they were desperately searching for was still missing, and none of the bodies were Mishnev. Tony turned to Malachi, "Where's Gibbs?"_

"_He split off. Headed into the woods. Ordered me to help clear the house, make sure you were alright."_

_Tony leveled a hard glare at the Israeli. "And you listened? Standard operating procedure – you never leave your partner."_

_Malachi challenged. "Military training – always follow your superior's orders. Agent Gibbs has point. He issued an order. I followed."_

"You may not like them, but you follow them_," replayed from years before. Tony turned away from the other two men, mumbling, "Damn Mossad train…" A distant gunshot from outside had all of the agents spinning and aiming their weapons. They proceeded out the back door, noticing the droplets of blood and the footprints leading into the treeline. Following the partially hidden trail, they proceeded with hurried caution. "Boss?!" Tony called out. No answer. He called again, a little more sharply, "Boss?!" The three agents rounded a corner of the trail, weapons still raised, when they came to a dead stop. _

_Mishnev laid in the middle of the trail, unfocused eyes staring blankly up at the treetops, a growing pool of dark red blood blending with the dark brown mud and leaves he rested on. Tony couldn't help the relief that flicked through him at the sight of the deceased. Then he took in the sight at the edge of the trail – Gibbs bent over a prone figure, applying first aid and mumbling demands mixed with coaxes. _

"_Ziva!" Tony sprinted the remaining distance, dropping to his knees on her other side. "Ziva?"_

"_She's alive DiNozzo," Gibbs reassured, as McGee and Malachi approached. They continued to scan the area, unsure if there were any more assailants. _

"_We need to get her to a hospital. Now."_

"_Already called Ramstein. Chopper is on the way with a medic, about twenty minutes out." Gibbs assessed Ziva with clouded worry. Tony began lifting the hem of her shirt, searching for her earlier wounds. "What are you doing, DiNozzo?" Gibbs questioned. _

"_She was stabbed in Metz. She said she needed medical attention the last time we spoke. For Ziva to admit that, it has to be ba…" Tony momentarily halted his search as his head snapped forward violently. He couldn't recall a more vicious head slap. _

"_If you _**ever**_ hold something like that out on me again, DiNozzo, your head will roll next time. You got me?" Gibbs finished with his finger just inches from his senior field agent's face. _

_Tony considered if the tables had been turned, how he would have felt not knowing the truth, and realized, Gibbs was right. "Sorry, Boss." He continued his search, lifting the hem until her vest was revealed. "Thank God," he mumbled, unzipping her coat and using his knife to cut open the front of her shirt. The men noticed the bullets embedded in the vest, and exchanged knowing glances. Had Ziva not been wearing the protective gear, they would have found her dead. _

_With the vest unvelcroed and the front flap at least lifted over her head, Tony gently raised her undershirt, finding the two wounds open and bleeding. But, what caused both men to gasp and swear aloud were the angry, deep purple bruises already painting her midsection from the most recent assault. _

_A dangerous threat escaped the depths of Tony's dark side. "It's a good thing that bastard is dead."_

_Gibbs gently probed her abdomen. "Couple broken ribs. Probably some internal bleeding." He bowed his head, "Dammit, Ziva."_

_A soft groan escaped Ziva's lips as her head rolled ever so slightly. "Ziva? Come on Sweetcheeks. Wake up." Tony chanced a glance at Gibbs. He was met with a knowing look. "I love you, Ziva. Stay with me. Please." Tony's brow furrowed as he finished his plea. He reached for the side of her head that had been revealed by her slight movement. "Boss? She has a head injury, too." Tony raised his hand, showing the blood that covered his fingers. Glancing around, he spotted a rock smeared with a small amount of blood about a foot away. "When is that chopper supposed to be here?" he asked, unable to hide the urgency he felt. _

"_We need to get her to the field. You two," Gibbs looked directly at McGee and Malachi, "back to the house. Find something we can use as a gurney. Watch your six."_

_After thirteen agonizing minutes, the chopper landed. They loaded Ziva. Then, everyone else but Malachi boarded. "I need to stay and take care of this," he shouted above the roar of the rotors. "I will drive the car back to Ramstein. Just let them know that I'm coming." Gibbs replied with a simple nod and indicated to the pilot that they were ready. _

Tony lifted his head. "Then, on that chopper…"

"_Clear!" Ziva's body convulsed violently. The medic resumed chest compressions as the portable AED whined, racing to charge again. Gibbs held two fingers on her wrist, willing a throbbing to challenge the pressure he was applying. "Clear!"_

"…I realized a whole new level of scared." He brought her hand to his lips. "I lost you, Ziva. For real. You were gone. And my heart… Mine stopped, too." He brushed his lips over her knuckles. "And now you're still scaring me. Come on, Zi. Come back to me."

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled Tony, and he turned quickly. Malachi stood at the door. "I just finished a debriefing with Agent Gibbs and the directors, and I wanted to come and say goodbye to Ziva before I returned to Israel."

Tony was reluctant to release Ziva's hand and leave the room, but he knew he owed Malachi this. He kissed her forehead, and turned for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, passing the other agent.

Malachi nodded and proceeded to Ziva's bedside, taking up residence where Tony sat just moments before. He picked up the hand that was still warm from Tony's touch. Then, "The Rhinmakov's are safe and grateful to you, Ziva. They send their thanks."

After another long pause, he continued. "Remember when we finished our Mossad training, we were sent on our first undercover mission together? I tried to remain unaffected by you. We were trained to not allow such emotions to interfere with the mission. But, I couldn't help what I felt. You on the other hand, you were able to always remain focused, always get the job done. I admired that about you, and eventually came to understand and embrace the reasons behind our ruthless training."

Another pause as Malachi took Ziva's hand in his. "I understand your need for change. To change. And, I admire your determination. I am happy for you, Ziva. Love for Mossad agents, active or retired, is a hard feat. I've known for a long time that you loved him. Maybe longer than you did. And I've seen the love he carries for you. I wish you nothing but the best, my friend. Please, just wake up, so that you may enjoy what you so desperately deserve."

This time, Malachi turned to find Tony standing in the doorway, clearing his throat. He returned his attention to Ziva. "I believe he wants his seat back," Malachi whispered with a grin. "Kol tuv, chaverá," he offered with a final squeeze of her hand.

Tony approached the other man and held out his hand. "Thank you for your help."

Malachi nodded as he accepted his hand. "Shalom, Tony. Take good care of her." Tony nodded in return.

Ziva felt the warmth return to her palm, felt the peace return with it. She was tired and allowed her body to take over, drifting off yet again.

#####

"…always had my suspicions about you two. Then when Tony returned from Israel and you didn't… he was different. We knew for sure then." His voice drifted in, the nervousness she heard in it strangely reassuring. "I'm happy for you both, even if it is a little disturbing. I mean he's like the older, know-it-all-I'm-going-to-torture-you-every-second-I-can brother I never had, and you are like my other younger, rebellious sister. I'm not sure how I feel about my 'adopted siblings' getting together, but, well…"

"Enough rambling, McNervous," Tony said as he approached her bedside. He laid a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Thanks for watching over her for a couple of minutes."

McGee gave a single nod. "She should be awake by now Tony. It's been six days. What has Ducky said?"

Tony sighed, dragging a hand down the length of his face tiredly. "Gibbs _said_ the Duckman _said_ that it could take up to two weeks and in some extreme cases, longer, for a patient to wake from a coma who has gone through what she has."

McGee returned his attention to Ziva for a moment, leaning down close to her ear. "As long as you're happy, sis," he finished his earlier thought as he laid a feather-light kiss on her temple. Turning to Tony, he reminded him, "If you need another break, just let me know Tony. I'm going to go Skype Abby, give her an update."

"Thanks again, Tim. For everything."

She was upset to hear his voice drift away, but relieved to have Tony back. "I'm here, Sweetcheeks. Ready to wake up yet?" he whispered by her ear, waiting. Then his voice seemed to drift away like fall leaves on the current of a calm stream. "I'll be right here when you are."

#####

A tennis match. That's what it seemed like as she laid there. A question from the left, an answer from the right. A question, an answer, a comment. "Maybe we should transport her home, Boss. It's been seven days."

"Doctor won't release her, DiNozzo."

Tony stared at Ziva, jaw tightening, then loosening. Gibbs stared at Tony, waiting patiently for the next question. When Tony met his eyes, he didn't hesitate. "Boss? You ok with me marrying Ziva?"

"You asking my permission Tony? Rule twelve is no longer in play here."

"This has nothing to do with the rules, Gibbs. You're the only father she has left. I'm asking for your permission."

"And if I say 'no'?" Gibbs countered.

Ziva couldn't believe the direction the conversation floating above her took. She couldn't take anymore. Tony and Gibbs were having a discussion that her and Tony should be having, or at the very least include her.

Tony stared, unsure of which direction to take the exchange.

"Relax, DiNozzo. I saw the writing on the wall a long…" He stopped speaking when he noticed Tony's expression. His eyes were trained on Ziva's face, searching. "Tony? What is it?"

"I swear, I just felt her squeeze my fingers. It wasn't much, Boss, but there was pressure."

Both men stood, bent over Ziva, their heads almost touching as they stared down at her face looking for any signs of consciousness. "Ziva? Ziva? Can you hear me? Come on, Zi. We need you to wake up."

"Ziver, squeeze Tony's hand again or my hand if you can hear us." After a few seconds, blue eyes snapped up to meet green, and both agents wore relieved grins. "I'll get the doctor," Gibbs announced excitedly.


End file.
